Bloody Tears
by ArmedWithMyComputer
Summary: Dean could deal with blood. It was always no big deal – except when it was Sam's blood. So he slowly starts to break apart as he waits in the waiting room, Sam's blood staining his hands, the clock counting down the seconds of Sam's life.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys :) This will be a two-shot, maybe more if people want, and was just written on the spur of the moment – You gotta love summer holidays! Sorry for any mistakes… The italics are flashbacks or things that Dean is thinking. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. **

**Summary:** Dean could deal with blood. No big deal – except when it was Sam's blood. So he slowly starts to break apart as he waits in the waiting room, Sam's blood staining his hands, the clock counting down the seconds of Sam's life.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

The emergency room was loud and busy, but somehow everyone slowed down when Dean burst through the doors. He was screaming and cursing, both in fear and pain, while supporting Sam. Time seemed to drag on as he yelled for help, Sam's heart pumping out more blood from his wounds every second that Dean held him. His brother's hair was crusted with blood, and it swayed slightly as Dean shifted him in his arms.

"Will somebody fucking help me! Please, I need some help over here!" A gurney was rushed over, Sam manhandled out of Dean's arms, and suddenly he was alone. Breathing hard, hands shaking, Dean dropped his head into his arms, and tried to keep it together.

The whole emergency room was watching in shock as Dean shrugged off nurses who tried to help him, instead running his hands through his hair and struggling to get his breathing under control. Short hair was stained with blood, hands dripping redness, and eyes screaming silently for reassurance. Dean followed the nurse, stumbling every few steps until he reached the waiting room.

He manages to scribble some random shit onto the forms, come up with the name Sam Singer for comforts sake, and refuses yet again to be checked out by a doctor. Then he is left alone, and the memories come flooding out past the walls that Dean put up.

Colours assaulted him, images of Sam's bloody and broken body flashing into his mind, and Dean gratefully accepts the cup of coffee that a scared looking intern offers to him. Its then that he realises what he must look like, hands stained red, face smeared with blood, clothes dirty and splashed with blood… But he didn't care. All that mattered to him was somewhere in this hospital, probably dying. _Oh God, Sammy…_

After two hours of torture and self control, a doctor approaches apprehensively and tells Dean that Sam is in surgery. When Dean asks the inevitable question that he doesn't really want to know the answer to, all the doctor can do is avoid Dean's eyes and shrug slightly while muttering statistics. He leaves when Dean loses control for a second and breaks the hand rests on the shitty wooden chairs from grief.

The cheap wood breaks easily, splinters cutting into his bloody palms, but Dean only places his head in his hands once again and shuts out the world. He is brought back to reality by an orderly who cautiously points the way to a bathroom where Dean can get cleaned up. The only reason why Dean doesn't scream and curse at the guy is because he's brought caffeine and a sandwich.

The mirror in the bathroom is cracked and grubby, matching Dean's feelings. Hands braced against the sink, Dean forces himself to look up into his reflection's eyes and face the guilt staring back at him. This whole situation is his fault, he knows that.

When he manages to tear his gaze away from himself, Dean washes the blood off his face and hands, working on autopilot. He doesn't even flinch when he rips the splinters out of his hands, creating new bloody trails, too numb to register the pain. His fingers roughly work through his hair and wash out the blood, eyes staring into the sink as the whirlpool of scarlet disappears.

Walking back into the waiting room, Dean sees heads turn at his mostly clean appearance, but he ignores everyone and slumps back down in the seat next to the one where he had previously sat, shards of wood scattered on the ground around him.

The clocks ticks on while Dean alternates between studying his fingernails and Sam's blood that had dried underneath them, to reliving the moment when everything went wrong in his mind. People enter and leave the waiting room at different times, but Dean doesn't move, vowing not to go anywhere until he hears word on Sam.

Looks of pity are wasted on Dean every few minutes as he leans forward so his elbows are resting on his legs, the hunter ignoring the strangers who study him. His head snaps up every time a doctor enters the room, but the name called is never his brother's. People around him break down in tears, sink to their knees in relief, run out of the room so overcome with emotions, pray aloud and silently, hug loved ones as they wait, make phone calls to relatives, but Dean refuses to do any of these. Green eyes shine as he flashbacks to the car ride to the hospital, but he holds the tears in, and waits.

"_Oh God, Sammy… Just—Just try and stay awake for me, okay, kiddo? Sam? Shit… answer me, Sam!" The Impala swerves violently on the empty road as Dean struggles to keep pressure on the gaping slash that cut cruelly across Sam's chest and steer the car at the same time. A sign for the nearest hospital is a blessing, and Dean presses his foot down on the accelerator, internally crumbling at the sight of Sam's closed eyes. A sharp turn has Sam's unsupported head flopping around, and it rests on his older brother's shoulder, mouth slightly open. "Hey, Sammy, you see that? We're nearly there, man, so just hang on. I'll get us there, I promise… I gotta look out for you, remember? D-don't fade away on me there, okay? Sam?" There was no reply._

A part of him wonders if he should call Bobby, but Dean knows that he wouldn't be able to utter a word if the older hunter answered. If Sam… doesn't make it… Dean realises that he'll have to make the phone calls, organise things, and—

Dean snaps his eyes open and jumps up before his train of thought can get any further.

He's hyperventilating with fear, hands fisted tightly, and his head is suddenly pounding. He forces himself to stop breathing so heavily before he passes out, and decides on pacing to distract himself. The steps back and forth the waiting room soon become Dean's way to keep holding on to whatever shred of sanity that he has left, and he gules his gaze to the ground. One step after another, and another, and another… It just keeps going on and on.

After an agonizingly long half hour of walking back and forth, Dean knows that he's going to go insane if he has to wait any longer. It's been almost five hours ('_for fuck's sake!_'), and all he's been told is that Sam is in surgery. Dean's waited in hospitals numerous times, he's used to the drill, but this is verging on ridiculous. All he wants is to know if Sam is still alive or not.

The picture of Sam looking half dead, blood everywhere, and limbs sprawled out awkwardly on the ground replays in his head for the millionth time, and it's all Dean can do to keep his scream inside him. He fights the urge to sink to his knees and grip his head tight, starting to pace with a purposeful stride yet again. Only a few minutes into his pacing, the door opens, and a doctor saunters in. All eyes are drawn to him like a magnet.

"Family of Sam Singer?"

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

…**. Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, I don't think that I've ever had a chapter up this fast before :0 Sorry for any stupid mistakes or things like that! Thanks so much for all your kind reviews – They were much appreciated! Thanks also for all the favourites and alerts :) This story kinda took on a life of its own, but I'm hoping that it'll only be one or two more chapters… I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. **

**Summary:** Dean could deal with blood. No big deal – except when it was Sam's blood. So he slowly starts to break apart as he waits in the waiting room, Sam's blood staining his hands, the clock counting down the seconds of Sam's life.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

Dean's breathing hard as he stumbles over to the doctor, eyes bloodshot and full with undisguised worry. The man gives him a charming smile that Dean could care fuck all about, and gestures for him to sit down in a secluded corner of the waiting room. The other people in the room eye Dean with curiosity, as he hadn't left the waiting room in over four hours, and the expression on his face looked like he was about to break down.

"Is he alive?" Dean blurted out, not sitting down, nails cutting half-moons in his palms as he made anxious fists. "Is he going to be okay?"

The man didn't answer right away, instead fixing his glasses and consulting his clip-board, "And who are you, sir? I'm afraid that I can't give you any details about the patient until I can see some ID, and then I'm going to have to ask what happened."

Dean's expression became even more panicked as the doctor dodged his questions, "Is he alive?" He asked again, starting to shake with fear, "Tell me that he's alive… I need him to be okay." Then Dean couldn't hold it in any longer, and a tear slipped down his cheek. When the doctor only raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything, Dean felt an overwhelming wave of grief wash over him. "_Is my brother alive?"_

"Sir, I need some ID before I can disclose information about the—"

Before the doctor could finish his sentence, Dean snapped from panicked to furious, and had the man pressed up to the wall. One arm was over the doctor's throat, and the other was ready to reach for the knife that was hidden in his boot. "Tell me about my brother right now." When there was no reply from the shocked doctor, Dean roared with fury, and slammed the man against the wall," I NEED TO KNOW!"

By then, the other occupants of the room were looking on at the scene with fear and apprehension, watching as Dean lost control. He had to know if Sam was still alive, had to know if his stupid decisions had killed his own brother. The doctor was whimpering by now, weakly calling out for help and for someone to get security, perfect hair messy and windswept.

No one moved to help him though, all the people in the waiting room having developed an odd attachment to the pacing stranger in the corner. For some reason, they were all curious as to what had happened to leave him this shattered, and all praying for the young man's sake that his brother would be okay.

"Yes, okay? Yes, he's alive! I— Please don't kill me, please!" His pleading continued on even after Dean dropped him to the ground, then turning away in a mixture of disgust and relief. Dean drew in a shuddering breath, hands fisted in his hair, before rubbing a hand down the side of his face.

"Is Sam going to be okay?" The words were choked and quiet, Dean trying to salvage some of the sanity that the doctor had seen.

The man was still rolling around on the floor, gasping after the last few terrifying minutes, but he managed to say, "Maybe we should… talk somewhere more private?" With a curt nod, Dean hauled the doctor to his feet, pushing him in front of him, and walking towards the door. The room was silent as Dean gave raised his hand slightly as a sign of thanks and surrender before leaving.

Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, seeming too loud in the quiet hallway. Then came the sound of a patient moaning in agony from a nearby room, making Dean wince as he remembered the struggle of getting Sam into the car, his younger brother barely conscious and unable to respond.

_Dean apologised over and over as he manoeuvred Sam into the front seat of the Impala, his face paling as Sam moaned. "Sorry, Sam, you're nearly in… There, you're going to be okay, man, I swear." Weapons were tossed into the backseat without a second glance, shirts grabbed off the floor, and shaking hands pressing the material down hard on Sam. The younger Winchester let out a gasp of pain when Dean pressed down harder, blood seeping though the shirts already. "Sorry, Sammy, but I gotta stop the bleeding… And what better to do it with than all your shirts that you always leave on the backseat, huh?" Dean tried to make a weak joke to calm his fears, but it didn't work. "C'mon, Sam, w-where's that bitchface of yours?"_

_Clambering awkwardly into the car, immediately throwing one arm across the seat to resume the pressure on the gaping wound, Dean fumbled one-handed with the keys before managing to shove them in the ignition. The car roared to life just as Sam's eyes slipped closed, the hunter shaking from shock. "Sam. Sam, open your eyes right now, man, or I swear that I'm gonna…" Sam used his last ounce of strength to flutter his eyes open for the last time, giving Dean one last look before closing them once again._

"_Sammy!" _

The conference room that Dean was led to was large and spacious, and made Dean want to throw up. He shook his head in a daze when he was offered a seat, instead backing up until he was leaning against the wall. If Sam didn't recover, it was on Dean. One stupid decision, and now his brother was lying somewhere in this hospital, probably half-dead.

"T-tell me about my brother. Tell me that he's going to be okay."

The asshole of a doctor, as Dean now referred to him as in his head, consulted his clipboard for a second, looking unsure. "Well… Your brother Sam has some extensive injuries. He was brought in with severe blood loss, a large laceration across his chest that was shockingly deep, as well as a broken wrist, and several cracked ribs. We had to operate on him in an attempt to stabilise his lungs which were in jeopardy due to the laceration, and to stitch up the damaged muscles. He also has a mild concussion, from what we've been able to gather, but he hasn't been conscious long enough for us to be able to tell."

Dean was reaching for the bin in the corner before the doctor had finished, throwing up whatever was left in his stomach_. Oh God, what have I done? _Dean stayed hunched over for a few more seconds, before straightening and wiping his mouth clean. The picture of Sam lifeless in his arms, the feeling of Sam's warm blood soaking through his clothes, and the memories of desperately trying to wake Sam up in the car during the drive haunted Dean.

"Could you tell me what happened, Mr. Singer?"

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

**Review…? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys :) Thanks SO much for all the reviews so far! They're so amazing, and they really inspired me to stop being lazy and get this chapter up tonight… Also, a bunch of thanks for all the alerts and favourites – it's really great to know that so many people like this! **

**There will be one more chapter after this one, which will probably be posted tomorrow night as I'm going away on Saturday :) Sorry for any mistakes or stupid stuff, I don't have a beta reader! I hope this chapter is okay…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. **

**Summary:** Dean could deal with blood. No big deal – except when it was Sam's blood. So he slowly starts to break apart as he waits in the waiting room, Sam's blood staining his hands, the clock counting down the seconds of Sam's life.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

The room seems to be closing in on Dean when he hears the doctor's next words, "Could you tell me what happened, Mr. Singer?" He knows that he obviously can't tell the truth, he'd sound insane if he did, but Dean's lost for words. His head is pounding once again, hands shaking slightly, and breathing suddenly getting a lot harder.

All the cover stories that him and Sam have come up throughout their whole lives go out of his head, and Dean's left stuttering and fumbling over words while his stomach churns again. He's back in the abandoned house once again, body pounding with adrenaline, gun comfortable in his hands. Its only when he's shaken out of the flashback and opens his eyes does Dean realise that he's sunk to his knees.

Ignoring the doctor's offered hand, Dean rises shakily, and pulls himself together, "Uh, we were checking out a house that Sam was interested in investing in, and he fell down the stairs…" Dean knows that the lie is one of the worst that he's come up with, explaining almost none of Sam's injuries, but it comes blurting out before he can stop himself.

The doctor looks perplexed, "But then, how did he get the large laceration across his upper torso? I'm afraid that I'm, going to need a better explanation that that, Mr. Singer. Just tell me what really happened?"

"There was a hobo in the house, and he, uh, had a knife. The dude wasn't happy with me and Sam looking around, and he…" Dean stopped abruptly, unable to continue, "I'm sure that you can guess what happened." It was still a shockingly bad lie, but the doctor looked pretty gullible, and seemed to buy it. Or maybe he just didn't want to question the guy that had him pinned against the wall less than twenty minutes ago.

A moment of silence followed Dean's statement, Dean clenching and unclenching his hands out of worry, his eyes daring the man to tell him that he was lying. "Can I see him now? Please, I need to see for myself that he's okay." Dean has to force himself to breathe in and out normally, ignoring the way his heart is hammering and blocking out the slideshow of heartbreaking images that he saw when he rounded the corner and first saw Sam on the ground.

The doctor nods curtly, leading the way out of the room. Dean takes a second to run his hands though his hair, having to check his hands again to make sure that they aren't dripping with Sam's blood like he keeps picturing, before following the doctor. Nurses stare in the hallways on the way to Sam's room, curious about the tall, dangerous looking stranger who looks like he's on autopilot. Any looks of sympathy or curiosity are deflected by Dean's expressionless face that he has securely on, a mask for his feelings in place.

He walks tall, mouth set firmly in a straight line, all traces of nearly shed tears gone. Dean slipped into 'hunter mode,' and let everything flow away. He's perfectly concentrated on following the doctor, determined not to let any shred of emotion slip out, fearing that he might lose control again.

His green eyes told the real story, flashes of pain and panic visible, no matter how hard Dean tried to keep it all together. His long strides through the corridor are the same ones that he'd made in the waiting room, that desperate pace that he has grown accustomed to. The need to just focus on the next step, to ignore the flashing images in his head that show Sam unconscious and dying over and over again, to just keep going.

He walks to a chant of _Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam_, eyes scanning the floor for any piece of dishonour that he's forgotten to feel. Dean feels like he's falling apart under the weight of his stupid choices, the guilt that screams at him every time he thinks of Sam tearing him apart from the inside.

All too soon they arrive at the door to Sam's room, and Dean suddenly realises that he isn't ready to see his brother yet. After all those hours of torturous waiting and praying that Sam would be alive, Dean hadn't thought of what Sam might say to him. He doesn't think that he can face the look of disappointment and blame that Sam is perfectly entitled to give him for the rest of their lives.

But he still pushes the door open, turning his back on the doctor in the middle of the guy's speech that Dean has been ignoring since it started. He takes one look at the figure in the bed, and the flashbacks hit him full force.

_They're right in the middle of an intense hunt, a salt and burn that's particularly interesting. Apparently the poor sucker died from a stabbing from his fiancé's secret boyfriend, on their wedding day, and he's been known to rampage around the house each year on his death-day. It'd been going on for a few decades, with casualties every couple of years, so the brothers had decided to put an end to the spirit before any more people could die. _

_Their guns were loaded with rock salt, and their goal clear: Find the body and salt and burn it. It was rumoured that no one had found the man's body after he had been killed, and all the research that Sam had done pointed to the body still rotting years on in the house. "I'll take downstairs, you search upstairs, okay, Sammy?" Dean had whispered, as they entered the abandoned house._

"_I don't think that we should split up on this one, man," Sam had muttered back, an uneasy tone in his voice, "I have a bad feeling about this spirit. Not anything physic, I don't think, but… I think that we should stay together."_

"_Don't be such a baby, Sam I'm sure that we can handle one little ghost. And I'm tired, so I kinda just want to get this hunt over with, you know? Now, get your ass upstairs, and burn him if you find the body, okay? Shout if you need me," Using the harsh tone that he'd learnt from John Winchester, Dean sent his younger brother upstairs, and started to prowl around downstairs. The only warning that he had that something had gone wrong was the sound of Sam yelling, and then stopping abruptly, as if he'd been cut off mid-shout._

_Then Dean had started running. _

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

…**. Review? It only takes a few seconds to give me some feedback! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, fourth (and last!) chapter in four days :) That's defiantly some kind of record for me! Haha, thanks a MILLION to everyone who's been reading this... And thanks so much to all my reviewers :) You guys are awesome!**

**I hope people enjoyed reading this little random summer story – I had fun writing it! I'd love if you guys dropped me a quick line to let me know how I did... Reviews are appreciated and treasured :) Thanks again!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. **

**Summary:** Dean could deal with blood. No big deal – except when it was Sam's blood. So he slowly starts to break apart as he waits in the waiting room, Sam's blood staining his hands, the clock counting down the seconds of Sam's life.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

The only sound in the room, apart from Dean's harsh breaths, is the heart rate monitor. Dean stays leaned against the closed door for a few moments, eyes squeezed tightly closed, lightning bolts of pain flashing around in his head. He has to get himself together before Sam wakes up and sees him in pieces. Dean feels like a coward as it takes him another minute to open his eyes again, and even then they're barely slits.

Sam's unconscious on the bed, flat down on his back. He's got a nasal cannula giving him extra oxygen, a bulky cast around his wrist, along with numerous small cuts on his face and arms. All the blood is gone.

The worst part is the thick layers of gauze that are wrapped around Sam's uncovered torso, making Dean's brother seem like the Hulk with his chest. Dean knows that underneath all those protective layers, Sam is cut open, and that he'd been the one holding Sam together a few hours ago. It's odd to Dean, seeing Sam bandaged and clean after spending so many hours picturing his bloody, limp body.

He approaches the bed quietly; reluctant to get too close in case he woke his brother. Sam looked so peaceful, lost in the world of dreams and strong drugs, but Dean knew that his younger brother would start hurting when he woke up, and he also knew that he was responsible.

Sinking down in the chair beside the bed silently, Dean reached out a tentative hand to touch Sam. He needed to put a hand on his brother, feel the texture of smooth skin, and not the slick bloody man that he had hauled out from the car. He needed to feel Sam breathing steadily under his hand, to grasp the concept that Sam was no longer struggling to draw a rasping breath in.

After a minute of indecision, Dean placed his hand over Sam's still one, trembling slightly in the milliseconds before he felt the warmth of Sam's hand. Once he had made contact with his brother, all the pressure that had been building up inside his head seemed to fade away. For the first time since he had arrived in the hospital, Dean lived in the present, banishing all thoughts of the past day, his mistakes, and what Sam would think in the future.

Dean went from staring at Sam with a fierce protectiveness, to leaning back and closing his eyes in tiredness during the next hour. He always snapped back to attention, muscles tensed and body ready to react, whenever a nurse entered the room to check Sam's vitals. Each time he scared the crap out of the staff, with his intense eyes, dangerous expression, and intimidating body language.

Blinking rapidly, Dean relaxed back into the chair after yet another nurse had scuttled in and out, determined not to fall asleep. He automatically looked at Sam, scanning the monitors for any irregular signs, before flicking his gaze back at Sam's face... to find his brother's eyes open and staring back at him.

Sam's pupils looked slightly glazed over, under the influence of heavy painkillers, but he still looked lucid. Dean's breath hitched in his throat, and he choked on the words that he had been practicing to say for hours. Sam stared on as Dean tried numerous times to say something, _anything_, but failed each time. When it looked like Dean was about to have a heart attack he was trying so hard to force some words out, Sam spoke up.

"D-dean..."

That one word, his name slipping past Sam's lips, jolted Dean out of his trance, and sent him spiralling down into yet another horrifying flashback.

_Dean sprinted though the hall of the abandoned house, turning the corner just in time to see Sam's head smash into a mirror on the second floor. Sam's feet dangled above the dusty ground, his body supported by the spirit_ _they were hunting. "Sammy!" Dean yelled, but it was too late._

_Dean's brother turned his head slightly, blood running down his temple, just in time to give Dean a desperate look before he was thrown across the landing. By then, Dean was already thudding up the stairs, unable to breathe for fear for Sam, adrenaline rushing though his body. The spirit glared down maliciously at Sam, a long blade in its hand, before swiping downwards. _

_Just as the knife cut into Sam's chest, Dean reached the top and tackled the spirit. It didn't do much, as the ghost wasn't solid and immediately disintegrated, but it stopped the blade from cutting directly though Sam, instead leaving a large laceration that started splurting blood straight away. Knowing that he had to find the body before the spirit returned for Round Two, Dean cast a horrified glance at Sam before running into one of the rooms. _

_Finding no body after a quick scan, he ran to another room, shouting for Sam to, "Hold on, man! Just hang on, and I'll make everything okay! You hear that, Sammy? You're going to be fine..." Praying to everything that he knew, Dean felt tears start to run down his face, hearing only a weak moan as a response. When he finally ripped open a rotting wood closet, his gaze fell on the pile of bones that was pushed up in the corner. "Gotcha, you son of a bitch!" Dean poured the whole box of salt over the bones, fumbling for his lighter for a brief moment before igniting the flame and setting the wardrobe on fire._

"_Sam!" When Dean entered the hallway to get his brother, a cold hand closed over his heart when he saw the pool of blood on the floor, but no Sam. As the final bones caught fire in the other room, an unearthly cry was heard, and Sam, who had been hovering over Dean's head, suspended by the spirit's power, was dropped to the ground. _

_Sam hit the ground with a sickening cry, before rolling a few feet and tumbling down the stairs. Dean lunged forward, but was too late again to save Sam. He was forced to watch his brother come to a silent stop at the bottom of the stairs, smears of blood making a trail down the stairs to his still, crumpled body. _

"_Sammy! Oh God, Sam..."_

Dean was hunched over in his chair, rocking back and forth, silently mouthing his brother's name. He snapped out of the flashback just in time to hear Sam saying his name repeatedly, a tone of worry present in the youngest Winchester's rasp. "Sam!" Dean jolted back to reality with a cry, his face paling as he started hyperventilating.

"Dean... You've gotta c-calm down, man... Are you o-okay?" Sam was struggling to reach for the bed control to raise himself into an upright position, but his face was screwed up with pain, and he was panting in agony. Dean's younger brother looked as if he was about to pass out again, but he kept pushing himself.

"Sam...? Shit, Sammy, stop. Just lay still okay? I'm fine, and you're going to be fine, as long as you stop moving," Dean grabbed his brother's hand gently, and lowered in back to the bed. "Oh God, man, I'm so sorry... This was all my fault. I screwed up badly, Sam; I nearly got you killed... I just— This is all my fault, and you nearly died, and—"

Sam cut Dean off swiftly, coughing slightly before saying, "Dean. Calm down, okay? I'm fine, you're fine, everything's okay... It was no one's fault, just a smart son of a bitch who got the jump on me, okay? I need you to just calm down, and relax, huh? Do it for me, Dean..."

Slowly, Dean's breathing got back to normal, and he concentrated on Sam's voice. Sam talked gently to his brother until Dean had completely calmed down, the images and flashbacks fading away till there were only bad memories and distant screams of the past. "I'm so sorry, Sammy..." Dean mumbled, resting his head softly against the bed, "I didn't mean for you to get hurt..."

By the time Dean regains control of himself, Sam's already starting to slip into sleep, and the lines around his face indicate the pain that he must be in. Dean ruffles Sam's hair with a sigh, watching Sam fall under the influence of the drugs again. He lets out another shaky sigh, before whispering, "No more chick flick moments anymore, 'kay man? But, thanks..."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

**... Review for the last time?**

**x**


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